


Knife

by silentdescant



Series: Promptember [2]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fear Play, Knifeplay, M/M, SePTXCC17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: He looms, nearly bent double to keep his face at Mitch’s eye level. “Keep your eyes on me.”





	Knife

“Keep your eyes up,” Scott whispers, his voice silky smooth and his breath warm. He circles Mitch slowly, finally comes around to stand in front of him. He looms, nearly bent double to keep his face at Mitch’s eye level. “Keep your eyes on me.”

He says that, but his hands really do pull focus. He’s leaning with his left hand gripping the armrest near Mitch’s elbow, but in his right hand is a shiny silver blade. A kitchen knife, sparkling clean and sharp because they’ve never tried to cook with it. It’s somehow scarier than a knife with a discolored handle or tiny scratches in the metal would be; a knife like that would be comforting somehow. Familiar. This one is brand new and dangerous.

“Look at me,” Scott says firmly. His eyes are dark and intense. He holds Mitch’s gaze for a long time, until Mitch nods his head.

In his periphery, Mitch sees the knife move. Sees Scott’s hand, his arm, his body move. Scott puts the metal against Mitch’s chest, just beneath his collarbone. It’s hard to breathe with it there. It’s like a weight, pushing down on his chest. He’s scared to suck in a full breath of air, scared for his chest to expand.

“Don’t move,” Scott whispers.

The knife moves instead. Scott draws it down to Mitch’s sternum, rests the point there for a moment, before continuing down. Then he lifts it and does the same on the opposite side, starting beneath Mitch’s collarbone and dragging the blade to the middle of his chest and down.

Scott leans in closer.

Mitch’s heart is going to explode out of his chest.

Scott kisses Mitch’s cheek. His beard scratches, feels like a thousand needles scraping against Mitch’s skin. Scott sucks Mitch’s earlobe into his mouth and nibbles.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he says. “Eyes up.”

As Scott leans back, he brings the knife up again and rests it flat against the side of Mitch’s neck. Mitch’s gasps and starts panting, short, rapid breaths, and his eyes drift closed. He can imagine it, picture it in his mind’s eye. The silver blade against his throat. The sharp point digging into his skin. The indent it leaves from how hard Scott pushes. Scott could draw blood. Scott might hurt him. It might be Mitch’s fault if he doesn’t _stop moving_.

“Open,” Scott commands.

Mitch’s eyes open wide. Scott’s staring at him. It’s easy to hold his gaze.

Mitch’s breath is shaking. His entire body might be shaking. Scott’s so still and calm and intense. Mitch feels like a shuddery leaf in the wind. It’s better to stare at Scott, though. It’s grounding and terrifying at the same time.

Scott steps back and takes the knife with him, and Mitch heaves in several deep breaths. Scott breaks their stare and circles around behind Mitch, where his supplies are on the table. Mitch can hear him moving things around, setting down the knife, picking up something else, but he doesn’t know what’s on the table. He hears ice water.

Scott comes back and pops an ice cube into Mitch’s open mouth.

“You’re too hot,” he murmurs silkily. Mitch almost misses the double entendre. The ice cube is small and melts quickly on his tongue, leaking water out of the corner of his mouth. Scott puts another ice cube in the well of Mitch’s collarbone and he fights hard not to flinch. After a few seconds, it drips and Scott moves it to Mitch’s nipple. First one, then the other. He puts it into Mitch’s mouth too when he’s done and moves behind him again, back to the table.

Mitch is glad of the brief breather, but his blood is still fiery hot and adrenaline courses through his veins. He hasn’t calmed down at all. His entire body is tense and taut; he feels like a balloon Scott’s about to pop with the tiniest prick of a pin.

Or the point of his knife.

Scott comes back to the front and pushes Mitch’s chin up, tilting his face toward the ceiling. He drags the knife against Mitch’s skin, across the middle of his chest, pushing harder than he did before. It burns like ice, too cold and too hot at the same time, and Mitch is sure he feels his skin splitting around the blade. The knife leaves tiny droplets in its wake, and they meander slowly down the front of Mitch’s chest.

Mitch closes his eyes and breathes heavily. He might be sobbing. He can’t tell. Scott’s still holding onto his chin, keeping his head back. Mitch’s chest is heaving again, and his arms shake. He hears the knife clatter down on the table behind him.

“Did it hurt?” Scott asks.

Scott leans over him, catches Mitch’s lips in a wet, sloppy kiss. Scott feels so hot, burning up. His mouth warms the chill that’s taken over Mitch’s body. Scott lets go of Mitch’s chin as they kiss but Mitch can’t move away, he can’t look down. Scott’s towering over him, consuming him, and there’s no escape. Mitch doesn’t want to escape. The tension melts from his body as he gives himself over to Scott’s intensity.

“Did it hurt?” Scott asks again. This time he gives Mitch time to answer.

“Yes.”

Scott asks, “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Mitch sighs.

It feels like a release to say so, to admit it. It felt like a release to be cut, it felt like a release for Scott to kiss him. It feels like a release to let it all go. The tension and fear are gone, and Mitch just feels overcome. Breathless and exhausted and spent, like he’s just come over and over again. He sags in the chair.

The corner of Scott’s lips lift in a faint smile. He’s satisfied. That feels like a release too, as relief and pride washes over Mitch’s body.

“You did so good,” Scott breathes. “You were so good, baby.”

He takes Mitch’s face in his hands, his grip tender and soft.

“So good for me, baby.”

He kisses Mitch again, brief and firm and comforting, before letting go of him so he can look down at his chest. There’s no cut, no blood, nothing at all but faint pink lines on his skin, across his pecs and trailing down the middle of his torso. Mitch blinks down at the lines.

“I felt it,” he says. “I _felt_ it.”

“Just water, babe. It was just water.”

“But I thought…” Mitch looks up at him, giddy with confusion. “I could feel the knife slicing through my fucking skin. I could feel the blood.”

Scott reaches behind Mitch for the knife. He shows Mitch a butterknife. Not what he’d used at first. Not the scary one, not the sharp one. A butter knife, with water clinging to the smooth surface. He uses the blunt edge to trace the line across Mitch’s chest, pushing just hard enough to make his point. The droplets of water transfer from the knife to Mitch’s skin and drip slowly down.

Mitch groans. Laughs as he lets his head drop back against the chair. “You’re fucking good,” he says. “God, I love you.”

Scott kisses him. He won’t stop kissing him. He undoes the bindings around Mitch’s forearms. “I love you too much to hurt you.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
